Ginderella
by Majick
Summary: With the Masquerade Ball approaching, Ginny Snape dreams only of the Prince Who Lived sweeping her off her feet and away from her evil step-family. Enter the strangest godmothers ever seen for a night of magic, mayhem and true love. Maybe... Complete
1. Chapter One: Balls

**Ginderella**

**_Chapter One: Balls _**

Once upon a time, high in the hills of Scotland, where the cows are hairy and the humans are hairier, there is a magic castle. You and I, if we were to see this castle, would think that it were ruined and abandoned.

We'd be wrong.

For this castle is Hogwarts, home to the only school of witchcraft and wizardry in all of Britain.

And deep inside, far from prying eyes, there works a young girl, no more than sixteen years of age, possessed of clear skin, perfect white teeth and the most beautiful, glossy red hair.

That is, she has these when she's clean.

Which she generally isn't.

For young Ginny is a maid at the castle, forced to slave day and night for her magical education, grudgingly allowed to study by the cruel Severus Snape who happens to be young Ginny's stepfather.

All day long Ginny works her fingers to the bone. All night long she studies until she falls asleep. She is an embarrassment to Severus Snape, whose own children have the best education money can buy, but are rather stupid and very ugly.

Oh, yes, Severus' daughters. Pansy is marginally the prettier, Millicent marginally more intelligent. But there's not much in it, nor indeed is there much to them. Their sole saving grace is their tendency to ignore young Ginny as much as is possible, if only because the last time they teased her, she broke a broomstick on Pansy's thick skull. For all her many fine qualities, young Ginny had an absolutely filthy temper at times. I wouldn't resort to stereotypes or anything, but did you ever hear that old limerick?

"There was a red-head from Nantucket,

Who was often heard saying 'Go f...'"

You know, I don't know if that's really suitable for this story... Back to Ginny, then.

The two sisters have a nickname for Ginny, the closest they dare come to teasing her. Ginderella, they call her. They took it from a Muggle fairy tale and, being not overly blessed with brains, think it an insult. Cinderella, after all, was generally covered in soot and dirt and stuff.

Ginny, however, rather likes the name. Let's face it, as fairy tale heroine's go, Cinderella had it easy. Snow White and Sleeping Beauty were poisoned, Rapunzel was imprisoned, Red Riding Hood got eaten by the wolf and the Little Mermaid had her tongue cut out.

Cinderella? She had to walk home from the Prince's ball. Ginny thought she could live with that.

Especially as there was a ball coming up.

Uncanny, that.

The end of the school year was approaching, and Hogwarts was preparing for its annual summer ball. It was to be the grandest of affairs, with all proceeds going to charity. The charity this year was to be the War Orphans fund, to help those children whose parents had been killed by Voldemort and his followers in the war.

In fact, the only orphans were the children of Death Eaters who'd been rather too stupid to get out of the way when the handsome prince, who went by the name of Harry Potter, and Voldemort began their duel.

Not that Harry had killed anyone other than Voldemort. It's just that the Dark Lord had a hissy fit when he realised that he was going to lose and tried expelling all his magical energy in one blast.

The Death Eaters died in the blast. 

Harry's hair lay flat on his head.

Doomsayers declared that the world was about to end.

It didn't, obviously, or we wouldn't be here.

But seriously, Harry Potter's hair actually lay flat.

It was a close thing.

Fortunately, Harry did some incredibly complicated magic and everyone else survived, apart from Voldemort, who blew up like someone had dropped a stick of dynamite down his stomach.

It was messy.

Still, Voldemort died, the Death Eaters died and there was a bunch of orphaned kids which Harry tried to adopt in an attempt to make sure that they'd have the happy life which he'd missed out on. 

Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts and Harry's mentor, explained that being raised by the person whom they believed had killed their parents would probably lead to issues later in life.

Harry insisted on arranging the Ball, at least, to bring in some money for the orphanage.

"A Masquerade Ball," he declared. "And I shall dress as a Seeker!"

"Now there's a surprise," said Hagrid, Harry's butler and veterinarian.

"You think I should choose another costume, Hagrid?"

"Aye," Hagrid replied. "Summat a bit less obvious, if yeh catch my meanin'."

"A... Chaser?" Harry suggested, dubiously.

Hagrid sighed tolerantly. Clearly it would be a long night.

*

In the kitchens, it was also a long night, but then it always was. By order of Albus Dumbledore, every day in the kitchens lasted for at least thirty-three hours. As Hogwarts was his castle, the order was obeyed.

Ginny sat up sewing robes until quarter-past-twenty nine, well past her usual bedtime. But she'd been dreadfully busy that evening, and hadn't managed to get a scrap of schoolwork done.

"Ginderella," Pansy had trilled as she and her sister swept into the kitchen at half-past-nineteen. "You will make us robes."

"Robes?" Ginny asked, looking up from her Arithmancy work.

"For the Ball, girl," Millicent growled. "You have heard of the Ball?"

The Ball, the Ball, of course Ginny had heard of the Ball. Everyone had heard of the Ball. What a thing it would be to go to the Ball! The Ball would be the most wonderful thing on earth, and the heroic Harry Potter would be there...

Ginny sighed, lost in a reverie.

Then she sighed again, as she realised that she was naught but a servant and would only ever attend a Ball to hand around canapés and cocktails, and that there were house-elves enough for that already.

"Oh, stop huffing," Pansy snapped. "We must be at our finest when Harry Potter arrives. One of us is bound to snare him, whatever father says."

Severus Snape was certainly no fan of Harry Potter, a fact that would have endeared the handsome prince still more to young Ginny, were that possible.

For Ginny had loved Harry Potter since first she laid eyes on him. For a time she had had something of a shrine to him in her dusty corner of the kitchen, but had long since given that up as being almost unbearably creepy and bordering on stalkerish.

Nowadays she merely exercised her entirely healthy fascination by conjuring fantasies of Harry and her together. All it would take, she was sure, was one evening with him...

She sighed again, but was interrupted when Pansy dumped a roll of black cloth in her lap.

"Stop sighing!" Pansy screeched. "We will be attending the ball as courtesans. Now sew!"

Ginny sighed defiantly, but quietly, and set to work on Pansy's costume. She wasn't sure about the colour of the material, or the cut of the dress, but it was what her stepsister wanted. Her stepsister definitely _didn't_ want fashion advice from the younger girl.

When Pansy's costume was finished, Ginny just had time to blink before it was whisked away from her and Pansy disappeared in the direction of the changing room

Yes, the kitchens at Hogwarts have changing rooms. How else could Pansy have changed down there?

Ginny knew what was coming next. A bolt of yellow cloth dropped from Millicent's hands and landed in her lap. Millicent held up a - very - rough sketch of the dress she wanted.

Ginny was of the opinion that it would make Millicent _look_ very rough. Canary yellow? With Millicent's blotchy red face?

Oh well... It certainly wouldn't be either of Ginny's stepsisters who would win over Harry at the Ball. Millicent's dress would suit her about as well as the deep purple outfit Ginny had just finished would suit the green-eyed Pansy.

But now it was half-past-twenty-nine and Ginny was drowsy. Her fingers ached from the intricate, lightning-fast stitching that she had produced to keep her stepsisters happy. The look on her stepfather's face as he blanched at the sight of his daughters' attire would keep her warm for weeks, she thought.

*

Weeks passed, and Pansy and Millicent were frequently to be found in the kitchen.

Not that the two sisters were working, or helping Ginny with her studies of course. No, they were pestering the younger girl to alter the robes. To let out and take in. To raise and drop. To change and amend. To rinse and repeat.

Ginny's schoolwork suffered. Her stepfather noticed.

"Clearly the excitement of the Ball is distracting you," he said witheringly as he handed back a pile of homework that was literally dripping in red ink. "I am afraid that more work of this nature will see you banished from the school. You certainly shall not be allowed to serve at the Ball tomorrow, as I had originally intended. You shall need the time to catch up on your work, most especially your Potions."

Ginny slouched back to the kitchens, her head hung low and her heart riding even lower. She hadn't even thought that she would be at the Ball, even as a servant. But to learn that she would have been, and that her stepsisters were the cause of her absence...

Ginny broke another broomstick on the dummy that Pansy had been using to display her dress.

"Something wrong, Ginny?"

It was Neville, Ginny's only real friend. He was another one excited about the Ball. He was going with Eloise Midgen, a stunning girl whom Neville had befriended when she had been the laughing stock of the school for hexing her own nose off.

Not like it's something we haven't all done at some point, right?

Ginny wanted to break down, there and then, but she stopped herself. Neville was her friend, and she wouldn't do anything to spoil his day, not when his big date was only twenty-four hours away (or thirty-seven, by the kitchen clock). She felt her anger and frustration dissipate before Neville's hesitant, uncertain smile.

"Nothing's wrong," she said, beaming at her friend. "I've just been letting my marks slip. Father isn't very impressed."

"Oh," Neville said. He looked thoughtful. "I'll help you, if you like. I need something to do."

Ginny's smile widened. "Thank you, but father hates for me to have any help with my work. Besides, shouldn't you be getting ready for the Ball?"

Neville looked panicked. "It's not until tomorrow, is it?"

"Don't you want to look smart for Eloise?" Ginny laughed. "You'll have to fight the other boys for mirror space if you wait until tomorrow."

Neville smiled, but made no attempt to leave.

"I wish you were coming to the Ball as well," he said. "It's not fair, you being stuck down here while everyone else is having fun."

"Better for me to be down here and catching up on my work then to be mooning all over the beautiful people upstairs," Ginny sighed. To her faint surprise, she found that she actually meant it. She didn't want to be serving at the Ball. If she couldn't be there in a beautiful gown, then she wouldn't be there at all. She didn't think that she would be able to abide Harry Potter looking through her as he would any other servant.

"I'll be fine," she grinned, effecting a curtsey in her sooty robes. "I shall have my own Ball, and I will be the most beautiful girl there."

"You'd be the most beautiful girl at any Ball," Neville declared, hugging her impulsively.

Ginny laughed when he released her. "Now you _really_ need to go and wash up," she said, looking at his now-filthy robes.

*

Hogwarts was awoken at five-fifteen the next morning by the simultaneous squeals of Padma and Parvati Patil as they realised that the day of the Ball was here at last. Their excited squeaking was joined by that of a hundred other easily excited girls, rhapsodising over materials, colours, cuts and contours. 

The boys, meanwhile, awoke less noisily, although there was a collective groan as they realised that the day of the Ball was there at last. Soon, they knew, they would be expected to don their costumes and dance at least as well as their date's best friend's date, for such things are important, after all.

Ginny, deep down in the kitchens, was awoken at five seventeen as her stepsisters burst into the kitchen, setting a new record for the dormitory-to-kitchen steeplechase in the process.

"Improvements! Now!" Severus Snape barked, swooping in after his daughters like a falcon snatching a rabbit from its hole. "You know as well as I do that your sisters will look ridiculous in these creations. You will slave day and night to prepare costumes that will flatter them."

"How can I slave day and night when the Ball starts in fourteen hours?" Ginny asked.

"More time can be arranged," Severus snarled snarkily. "Work hard and work fast, and perhaps I will allow you an extra day to finish your school work."

_An extra day to replace the one he's taking from me,_ Ginny had the sense to think without saying aloud, although she had the feeling that her stepfather had heard the thought, such was the sneer that he shot her way.

The school buzzed for the rest of the day, not least because a certain pair of pranksters set loose a nest of hornets in the Great Hall. 

Come the evening, Ginny had worked her fingers to the bone, mainly thanks to an enchanted pair of scissors that Pansy had 'forgotten' were in her sewing box. Millicent was kind enough to cast a flesh-regrowing charm, although Ginny suspected that this was only because her costume still needed work.

Fingers firmly intact, Ginny finished the final stitch on Millicent's fulsome costume. She sighed. 

Again.

There was no denying it. In their beautiful costumes, and with masks firmly in place, Ginny's stepsisters were bound to catch Harry's attention.

Ginny hadn't been able to help herself. Subconsciously, she had selected Harry's favourite colours. Millicent would look glorious in red, while Pansy glittered in gold. They were both dressed as Quidditch players, and Ginny had nearly trashed the designs when she realised how good they were. Even with magic to help her, however, she didn't have time to redo everything form the beginning.

Ginny watched in barely concealed loathing as the sisters paraded their wares around the kitchen, miming catching the Golden Snitch, or tossing a Quaffle.

Ginny scowled. Her stepsisters knew _nothing_ about Quidditch.

But, with the uniforms in place, they looked the part. And the masks that they would both be wearing would remove their faces from consideration.

Ginny turned away. Her stepsisters would have a better chance than anyone of catching Harry Potter's attention. Ginny was tempted to weep, sure that if she had had the chance to dress herself, then she would have been the one that Harry noticed.

Ginny was _tempted_ to weep, but she didn't. Because her stepsisters would have laughed, because weeping would have taken up time she needed for schoolwork, and mostly because weeping is a rather pointless waste of time and no man could grow to like a woman who looked and felt like a used handkerchief.

Being rather sensible at heart, Ginny instead picked up a large knife and began chopping two potatoes. One of the potatoes was big and chunky, like Millicent. The other was shorter and skinny, like Pansy.

But any similarity to her stepsisters was purely coincidental, and any relief that Ginny gained from the chopping was related solely to the therapeutic qualities of hard work.

Honest.

Anyway, the two older girls went away somewhere - it doesn't really matter where, they're not the stars of the story, after all - and Ginny was left alone to chop more potatoes.

Time passed, although it took rather longer to pass in the kitchens than elsewhere, thanks to Dumbledore's bizarre tastes in temporal sorcery.

The light outside dimmed. The candles guttered in their holders, for Dobby and the other house-elves had been too busy during the day to replace them. Ginny had been awake since five-seventeen, and in the kitchen that was twenty-two hours ago.

She was tired.

But not so tired that she didn't hear the cacophonous crash that heralded the unceremonious arrival of something big, heavy and above all annoyed in the middle of the Hogwarts washing up.

Which, incidentally, consisted of three hundred side plates, four hundred and thirty-one dinner plates, seven hundred and twelve goblets and eight hundred and ninety-one pieces of cutlery.

Fortunately, with the Ball that evening, a lot of the students had been far too nervous to eat, and so there wasn't anywhere near as much washing up as normal.

But still, I wouldn't want to do it all myself, would you?

Anyway, someone landed on it. Hard.

"Ron!" This single word, delivered in a female whisper, managed to express anxiety, annoyance, frustration and despair. All in all, it had really done a lot with itself, especially for a uni-syllabled word, and probably deserves a round of applause of its own.

"Ron!" the voice repeated. The word, having seized its opportunity, decided not to push its luck and restricted itself to simple annoyance this time. Clever word. No one likes a show-off.

"Look, I told you, it's bloody hard to Apparate in this sort of getup."

"_I_ managed."

"You're used to wearing this sort of thing."

"That's not the point. If you just concentrated-"

"Anyway," the male voice, Ron, interjected. "What are we doing here?"

"Didn't you listen in the briefing?" the female voice replied, obviously scandalised. Ginny found herself edging closer to the voices.

"Hermione, I _never_ listen in briefings. What's the point? You memorise everything, so all I have to do is ask you."

There was a loud "Tuh!" from the female, Hermione. Ginny took her wand in one hand and picked up the old, viciously sharp, foot-long meat cleaver that she'd never used but which she felt added a certain gravitas to her appearance.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked.

"You never _try_!" she said. "If you'd just put a little bit of effort into your work, then we wouldn't be in this situation. We'd get a bit more respect. We'd get better wands. You'd not have to wear those second hand robes."

Ginny edged around the fireplace and for the first time saw the owners of the two voices. Her jaw dropped.

Not, to be fair, because of the way the owners of the voices looked. Not exactly, anyway. The female was a bushy-haired brunette with blue eyes and a way of standing that screamed "Teacher, carer, brainy type."

The male was a tall, skinny red head with freckles that almost matched in number Ginny's own.

They were both holding cheap-looking wands, to the ends of which had been applied silvery stars that were definitely lacking in lustre, and a large number of their sequins as well.

But what had made Ginny's jaw drop was their robes.

They were identical down to the last faded star.

They were worn.

They were torn.

And they were definitely meant for witches rather than wizards.

Ginny stared at Ron in unabashed shock. There was several inches of pale leg showing below the hem of the hooped dress, and the neckline, which showed a small amount of Hermione's cleavage, appeared to descend halfway to Ron's stomach. The silvery robes, with their flared dress and puffed sleeves, actually suited Hermione rather well, complementing her brown hair and tanned skin. Ron, with his milk-white skin and carrot-orange hair, looked like a total idiot.

Quite apart from being a guy.

In a skirt.

Ginny didn't really have a problem with guys in skirts - almost everyone she knew wore long, flowing robes, after all - but Ron was not meant to be a transvestite, drag queen, female impersonator or any other breed of dress wearer.

Ron, it was eye-wateringly clear, was meant to wear jeans and a shirt. 

He was bony, Ginny decided. His partner had a pleasingly curvy figure that filled out the robes in all the right places. Ron, however, had bones sticking out in any manner of places, the final effect one of the robes appearing to be hanging upon a skeleton.

Ginny, realising that her mouth was still hanging open, shut it.

She realised as well that the two new arrivals had not even noticed her presence yet.

"Hands up!" she said, waving her wand at them.

They ignored her.

"Hermione, even you can't believe that Malfoy would give us good stuff no matter how hard I work."

"You're just giving him excuses to put us down, Ron."

"I said, hands up!" Ginny repeated, feeling rather cross about being ignored.

"He doesn't need excuses!" Ron declared. "He's a git!"

Hermione gave him a Look.

The capital letter was fully justified.

"Ron," she began, and Ginny suspected that what she was seeing was merely a replay of a discussion that the two had almost continually.

"Why are we here?" Ron said quickly.

"Oh, interesting question," Hermione said, brightening up considerably. "Some people say that in the beginning there was nothing, which exploded and created everything. Others think that-"

"I mean why are we here, now, in this kitchen?" Ron said hurriedly, apparently eager to head off any possibility of him learning anything.

"Oh. Well, we have a mission, of course."

"That much I could have guessed," Ron said evenly. "Do you know the _details_ of the mission?"

"Of course," Hermione replied promptly.

Ron sank his head into his hands.

"Can you tell me, please?"

Hermione grinned in a very mischievous way. "If you paid attention in the briefing, you wouldn't have to ask."

"Hermione!"

"Ginny Snape," she said promptly.

"_Ginny_ Snape?" Ron repeated. "Merlin, someone was hated by her parents. Why not Penelope, or Cecilia, or any name that flows better than Ginny."

Ginny's cheeks burned, and she felt an overwhelming desire to kick Ron in his unmentionables.

Assuming she could find them under his dress.

"What about Ginderella?" Hermione asked.

"Ginderella Snape? Yeah, not bad. Sounds familiar."

"It's what her stepsisters call her."

Ron's face fell.

"Evil stepsisters?"

Hermione nodded.

"Good and dutiful father or manipulative and spiteful stepfather?"

"Stepfather."

"Handsome prince?"

"_Heroic_ and handsome."

"Oh, aren't they all. What'd this one do?"

"He killed You-Know-Who."

There was a thoughtful silence.

"You-Know-Who," Ron repeated, slowly.

"That's right," Hermione said.

"I want to be clear about this. When you say You-Know-Who, you don't mean Draco 'I bribed my way into the top job' Malfoy, who I have occasionally referred to as You-Know-Who when running short of inspiration for better, ruder ways in which to refer to him?"

"No."

"You mean He Who Must Not Be Named."

"That's right."

"We're here to fix up Harry Potter?"

"Exactly," Hermione said.

Ron grinned. "We're going to be bloody _famous_. This'll be bigger than anything."

"Ron," Hermione said with a note of exasperation in her voice. "That's not what we're here for."

"Yeah, but it'd be good, wouldn't it? No reason we shouldn't enjoy the fruits of our labour."

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"I should never have given you that book of aphorisms for your birthday."

"But it_ was_ what I wished for," Ron said innocently.

"You wished for a naked Celestina Warbeck to sing you _Cannons Conquer_ too, and I didn't get you that."

Ron grinned. "Shouldn't we do some work?"

"You're changing the subject."

"I know," Ron said.

"Fine," Hermione huffed. "As you're so keen, you can be in charge of the spells. You can explain to Malfoy if anything goes wrong."

Ron's eyes widened, and then he grinned.

"Fine. These ones are dead simple, anyway."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Ginny blinked. Almost for the first time since their arrival, there was silence. She stepped forwards.

"Er, excuse me?"

They spun around, and Ginny found herself staring down their wands. She swallowed nervously.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Ron barked.

"Er, I'm Ginny Snape. Er, I was wondering why you're wearing a dress."

Credit where credit is due, Ron tried. But looking fearsome is virtually impossible when your partner-in-fearsome has collapsed into gales of helpless laughter.

"You've done it now," he said wearily. "It's going to be sodding _ages _'til she stops laughing. Bad enough that I have to through this every time we go out on a mission, now you've set her off when we're supposed to be working."

"Um, sorry," was all Ginny could manage. She was feeling rather lost at sea.

"Well, not your fault, I suppose," he sighed. "_Hermione will you please shut up!!!_" he added in a bellow, as Hermione caught sight of Ron's milk-white calves and started laughing again.

"I wouldn't mind so much if the dress actually _fit_," Ron went on. "But it's bloody draughty, you know? And every time there's a breeze, it goes _right_ up around my privates."

This revelation triggered another burst of laughter from Hermione, who collapsed back onto the floor and actually seemed to be having trouble breathing.

"Shouldn't we help her?" Ginny asked.

Ron appeared to be considering not helping, but as Hermione started going red in the face, he sighed and waved his wand at her.

"_Sobrus__!_" he said.

Hermione slumped back onto the floor, giggling slightly, but otherwise normal once more.

"Sorry, Ron," she said, as he took her hand and pulled her upright. Ginny could see her biting her lip in an effort to not laugh.

Ron said nothing, but placed himself slightly behind Hermione so as to be out of her line of vision.

"Who _are_ you?" Ginny asked.

"Didn't we say?" Ron asked.

"No."

"I'm sure we did."

"You've been rather busy since you Apparated into the washing-up."

"Yeah, sorry about that. It's really hard, Apparating in this dress."

"Why _are_ you wearing a dress?"

Ron Stunned Hermione before she could collapse again.

"Budget cuts," he said miserably, waving his wand over Hermione and re-awakening her.

"And who are you?"

"Didn't we say?"

"No!"

"Oh, sorry." Ron and Hermione looked at one another.

"We're your fairy godm-"

"-parents," Ron said quickly, cutting Hermione off in mid-word.

"Godmparents?" Ginny said.

"Godparents," Ron said firmly. He looked at Hermione. "A word, please?"

They walked off a few steps.

"God_parents_!"

"God_mothers_, Ron. It's traditional!"

"It's sexist, is what it is! Seamus gets to be a Godfather!"

"Seamus is obsessed with Robert de Niro. Besides he's the best. He gets to rock the boat a little."

"You fancy him, don't you?"

"Seamus? Of course not!"

"Yeah? Well, alright then. It's still bloody sexist, though." 

"Ron..."

"Oh, come on, Hermione. Who's going to know?"

"They've started doing surveys, Ron, you know that. A month after the event, they send our customers a survey to ask us how satisfied they were with their Godp- Godmothering experience."

"Please?"

"Oh, alright... But it's your fault if it all goes wrong!"

Ron muttered something that sounded rather like "Isn't it always?" but Hermione had turned and was treating Ginny to a brilliant smile.

"Hermione," she said, extending her hand. Ginny shook it gingerly, remembering at the last moment to put down her meat cleaver. "And this is Ron."

"I gathered," Ginny said. "Why are you here?"

"Well, some people say that Blind Io, chief of the Gods, took his fathers entrails and genit-"

"Actually," Ginny said quickly, "I meant here in this kitchen. Now. Tonight. You said something about Harry Potter earlier. He's upstairs, you see. Are you guests for the Ball?"

"Not exactly," Hermione said, while Ron muttered quietly. She treated Ginny to another brilliant grin. "Tonight, Ginderella, you _will_ go to the Ball!"

There was a brief pause.

"No, seriously, why are you here? Did my stepsisters put you up to this?"

"No, although you could say that they are the reason we're here, I suppose."

"Neville, then. It's the sort of thing he'd like."

"No. We're here because of you. To make sure you go to the Ball," Ron said, a bit tetchily. "You know, fancy robes, nice hair, that sort of thing."

"Me?"

"You. Now look a bit happy, will you?"

"Oh," Ginny said. "Sorry."

"That's okay," Ron said, magnanimously. 

Thirty minutes later, Ginny was sat in a chair by the sink, Hermione putting the last touches to her freshly watched hair.

"I'm not complaining," Ginny said. "I just thought that there'd be magic involved."

Hermione threaded the last of the flowers into Ginny's hair.

"There should be," Ron said, sitting on the table and trying unsuccessfully to stop his hooped gown from lifting up and flashing his unmentionables. Ginny kept her eyes averted until Ron gave up and stood back up. "Hermione's just a girl, so she likes doing this stuff."

"Ron, shut up and work on the dress, will you?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ron grumbled, moving over to the dummy that had held the costume that Ginny had made for Pansy. He waved his wand a couple of times and called "_Vestitor__!_"

A set of smart new dress robes appeared on the dummy.

"Ron!"

Male dress robes. In Ron's size.

"What? Oh, sorry," he said, awaking from a reverie of trousers. "_Ornatus__!_"

Ginny watched in awe as the robes took shape. They were a deceptively simple affair, shorn of ruffs or pleats, bows or adornment. "_Bombyx__!_" he added, as the robes began to solidify.

Then they were finished.

And Ginny wanted to weep. This time she let a single tear run down her cheek, drawing a clean line through the soot that lingered there.

"Whoops" Thanks for reminding me," Hermione said quickly. "_Scourgify__!_"

"Wha-" Ginny was interrupted by the unpleasantly pleasant sensation of being thoroughly scrubbed while still wearing all her clothes.

When the process was finished, she staggered backwards, breathing a little heavily, and leaned against the sink.

"Nice?" Ron asked, grinning wickedly as he peered over Hermione's shoulder.

"Um," Ginny replied, shakily.

"Good," he said, holding up a pair of shoes. "To complement your robes, a pair of killer heels, the perfect way to finish off any fantastic outfit."

Hermione looked at him curiously. "I worry about you, sometimes," she said.

She turned to Ginny, took Ron's wand from his hand and pointed her own at the dress on the dummy. "_Abalienare__!_" she said, waving Ron's wand at Ginny.

The process took about a second. Ginny went from shabbily dressed maid to drop-dead gorgeous femme fatale in, as Ron had put it, a killer outfit. The dress, for it was little more than a Muggle evening dress, was cut up to _here_ and down to there.

Ginny looked down at it with a dubious look on her face, but Hermione, who had long experience of Godmo-, er, Godparenting, knew that the red-haired girl just needed some encouragement.

"You look gorgeous," she said.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"D'you like the dress?" Ron asked. "I designed it."

"It's amazing," Ginny breathed, running her hands tentatively over the silk gown.

"Good. We're running late," Ron said briskly. "Stick on the shoes, grab your mask, and let's go."

"Mask?" Ginny asked.

"Masquerade Ball," Hermione replied simply, flicking out a hand. A gold-trimmed piece of card flashed there, and Ginny recognised one of the invitations to the Ball that Pansy and Millicent had crowed over for days.

"Well, okay," Ginny said.

"Right then," Ron said. "Stick your shoes on, grab your mask, and get going. We're late."

"And whose fault is that?" Hermione retorted as Ginny slipped her feet into the shoes. They were very comfortable, and lifted her petite frame a further three inches into the air. They were also not glass for, despite what Cinderella might have us believe, the human foot is not a thing of great beauty. These were simple, black, slingbacks. Ginny loved them.

"Well, it's not my fault," Ron protested, bringing Ginny back to earth with a bump. "I could have done her hair in two shakes of a wand."

"You know the charms for washing hair? You really are spending too much time in that dress."

"What are you implying, Hermione?"

"That you're very in touch with your feminine side," she retorted immediately.

They paused.

"You may be right," Ron admitted. "Fancy getting me out of this thing once we get back to base?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Idiot."

Ginny coughed.

"Do you have a mask?"

"Yes," Hermione said, rather more firmly then she had intended. "You're wearing it already."

"I am?"

"You are. Sometime between washing your hair and now, you put it on. I almost didn't notice."

"She's being metaphysical," Ron added hurriedly, as Ginny looked at Hermione as though wondering whether to commit the godmother to the lunatic ward at St Mungo's. "It's a confidence thing. You have the look, which is your mask. You already _had_ the personality. Now do you know what we're here for?"

"So that I could go to the Ball?"

"Yep. And?"

"Um, it's something to do with Harry Potter, isn't it?"

Ron sighed, waved a hand in the air and then was holding a stack of what Ginny recognised as her homework papers. He leafed through them.

"Your stepdad reckons you're a bit less thick than a troll. He's a git, but he may be right."

"Ron!" Hermione said, scandalised.

"Look," Ron said. "You're not just here to look good. You're here to get the prince. Harry Potter is up there, waiting for you, okay. You. Not your stepsisters. Trust me on this."

"Really?"

"_Trust_ me."

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter Two: The Night Before The Mornin...

**_Chapter Two: The Night Before The Morning After & The Morning After The Night Before_**

Harry Potter wandered through the Great Hall of Hogwarts, smiling absently at the assorted Beaters, Seekers, Chasers and Keepers who flaunted varying amounts of cleavage, thigh and general flesh at him.

To Harry, it just wasn't Quidditch.

It was fine for women to try and look attractive. He appreciated attractive women as much as the next - straight - man.

And it was fine for women to wear Quidditch robes, as well. He knew plenty of fine female Quidditch players, including one or two captains who were scarier and far more intense than Oliver Wood had ever been during his time on his house team. He really had no problems with women wearing Quidditch robes.

But for women to try and make Quidditch robes attractive, well, it bordered on sacrilege.

There were rules that stipulated how much flesh a player could show on the Quidditch pitch, after all.

Most of the women were flouting those rules, and it made Harry uncomfortable, for some reason he couldn't explain. The masks they were wearing tended to conceal more of their faces than Harry was entirely comfortable with, as well. He'd had some bad experiences with people in masks.

And he rather thought that he had heard one or two girls say that they wouldn't have been caught dead in Quidditch robes if they weren't hiding their faces.

It made Harry feel slightly ill.

Especially as Hagrid had convinced him to wear something other than Quidditch robes.

Harry had to admit that the Muggle tuxedo _did_ look good on him. It was cut nicely to emphasise the firm, tight muscles and pert butt that professional Quidditch had given him. Hagrid had insisted on an emerald-green bow tie and matching cummerbund, "Ter bring out yer eyes, lad."

Harry felt like a Muggle adrift in a sea of witches and wizards, searching for an anchor to hold him firm in the maelstrom sweeping around him.

(Secretly, Harry was rather proud of being able to slip the word 'maelstrom' into conversation, as his schooling in the English language had stopped after he entered Hogwarts. That he had found 'maelstrom' on a roll of Word for the Day toilet paper was neither here nor there. It was a good word, and he was proud of it.)

He was, however, rather regretting the three glasses of Firewhiskey that he'd drunk earlier in the evening, for he was now a very little unsteady on his feet, and wasn't entirely sure that what his brain was reporting was the same as what his eyes were seeing.

The mask didn't help his mood. A simple strip of ribbon, it did nothing to hide his eyes or mess of black hair, and seemed somehow to highlight the famous lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. He was easily identifiable as the famous Harry Potter.

Especially to the two fairy Godparents crouched under an invisibility cloak.

"So that's Harry Potter," Ron muttered. "Short, isn't he?"

"That's who she wants," Hermione said, barely looking up. "He just needs a nudge in the right direction."

"How?"

"Leg Locker?"

"It's my turn," Ron grinned. He waved his wand at Harry. "_Locomotor Mortis!_"

Harry toppled face first, flinging out his hands to try and counter the fact that his legs hand frozen mid-step.

Ginny, who had been standing just out of Harry's eyeline whilst plucking up the courage to approach him, found herself yanked forward, the front of her dress caught in Harry's grasp.

There was a loud crash.

This was followed by the unmistakable sound of a miraculously undamaged plate rolling away from the impact site before spinning to the ground with a womwomwomwom sound, as is customary when someone falls over at a fancy do in a grand hall with lots of fabulously dressed people.

Even when there're no plates involved in the falling over. It's just one of those things that defy explanation and must just be taken as fact. Like celery.

Ron grinned.

Harry sputtered.

Ginny blushed.

Hermione winced.

Harry managed to get the last of Ginny's hair out of his mouth, just as the feeling returned to his legs.

He stood up, automatically extending one hand to Ginny, who was sprawled in a rather unladylike way on the floor that nonetheless managed to hide the excess exposure of her flesh that Harry had tired of from the other women at the ball. The demure, attractively clad redhead who had absorbed part of his landing entranced Harry.

Ginny looked up, meeting Harry's eyes for the first time, and he was smitten.

Hermione waved her wand at the musicians who stood up and reached for their instruments a good twenty minutes earlier than had been intended. One of the cellists managed to spill his beer on his instrument, but as it was generally agreed that he was a poor musician at best, it did little to detract from his performance.

They struck up a tune which Harry had never heard but which he instantly liked.

"Would you, er, would you like to dance?" he asked Ginny, not yet having let go of her hand.

She blushed ferociously, and Harry almost laughed, but he didn't.

It didn't seem like the time to laugh.

So that you know how that feels, here's an exceedingly poor joke: A troll walked into a bar. The bartender looked at him and said, "Why the stony face?"

You see? Poor joke, definitely not time to laugh.

Ginny looked at Harry and felt the blush receding.

She wondered, briefly, why she was embarrassed. It was only someone asking her to dance. Admittedly, it was the most famous someone in the whole of the wizarding world, but that was okay. She could dance. She'd learnt how to when she was small.

Besides, if she said no, then whoever was standing behind her with a wand in the small of her back would probably hex her.

"I'd like that," she said, forcing as much calmness as she could around the trembling words.

They walked through the crowd, which parted before the beautiful couple in a decent imitation of the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron that opens onto Diagon Alley.

Meaning that the women were red-faced as bricks, and the men were as stony as mortar.

Isn't jealousy grand?

Hermione and Ron, meanwhile, were bickering under the cloak.

"You were threatening her, Ron!" Hermione hissed. "You forced her to say yes to him!"

"You were the one who cast the Clear Headed Charm on her," Ron countered, grinning smugly. "We're onto a winner here. It's half-past-eleven and they're as good as married. It's twue wuv."

"Just so long as Ginny remembers that she only has until twelve o'clock to kiss him, or the spells collapse."

"Well, you told her, didn't you? She won't forget that."

"_I _told her? Ron, it was your job to tell her that."

"Mine? What do you mean, mine?"

"You were told in the briefing that you had to tell her."

"Since when do I listen in the briefings?"

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione squeaked. "How are we going to tell her? Ron, you'll have to cut in on the dance."

Ron looked out at the dance floor. Ginny and Harry were stood in the centre, swaying gently as they stared into one another's eyes.

"I can't do it," he said. "I'm wearing a dress. I can't just muscle her off the dance floor."

"We're under an Invisibility Cloak. No-one would have to notice."

"_Harry Potter_ would notice, Hermione. Honestly, he spent ten years fighting the Dark Arts with those two mates of his who you never hear about any more. He'd know if there was someone around under an Invisibility Cloak."

"Then what are going to do?"

Ron shrugged. "Let love take its course. There's thirty minutes left. Plenty of time for them to kiss. Come on, I need a drink."

Hermione had no choice but to follow Ron as he headed for the bar to purloin two bottles of Butterbeer. She hoped that he was right.

Of course, it would be nice if Ron was right, but then where would the dramatic conclusion to this story come from?

_"Where did you get this Cloak from, anyway? You never did say."_

_"Oh, when we were at school, that kid we used to hang around with. You know the one I mean?"_

_"The green-eyed boy with messy black hair and glasses?"_

_"Yeah, that's him."_

_"You've had it all that time? Ron!"_

_"What? He said I could keep it for as long as I needed it."_

Ahem.

_"It's been years since we saw him. Years!"_

_"I'm sure he'd have found me if he wanted it back."_

_"Oh, honestly..."_

**Ahem.**

_"Oh! Erm, sorry."_

_"Er, yeah. Sorry."_

Anyway...

Harry and Ginny danced on, lost in one another's eyes, both thinking that they would make the fist move and kiss the other.

Any second now.

Now.

Okay, that didn't work. But really soon.

Like now.

Okay, now then.

Well, really soon, anyway.

Such gorgeous eyes...

Eventually, and independently for, caught up in the throes of twue wuv, they hadn't said more than a few words to each other - and if you think that's a poor basis for a relationship than you may be right but this is a fairy tale and in fairy tales waking someone up from a good century's sleep is enough to make them fall in love with you so let's not judge too soon, okay? - they both decided to kiss the other on the stroke of midnight.

Enter Millicent and Pansy.

For the record, Ginny's stepsisters had already had their tongues down the throats of a few blokes that night already. The combination of potent alcohol, no morals and drunk men had encouraged them to warm them up for the challenge that snogging Harry Potter would be.

So they appeared on the edge of the dancefloor, drunk and - forgive me - up for it, only to find their target in the arms of a rival, and a rival, they were forced to admit, who was a hell of a lot more attractive than they were.

Under such circumstances, there was only one thing for them to do.

Act like tarts.

Without even looking at Ginny - not that they would have recognised her, but still, they were rude - they grabbed Harry under each arm and dragged him away from her.

The clock struck the first chime of twelve o'clock, and Harry had just been dipping his head as Ginny tilted hers.

In other words, the sisters had interrupted the first kiss, the kiss that would have sealed the spell and Harry and Ginny's love.

Such is the fate of the wicked stepsister. They're not so much evil, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Cows.

Harry fought back, and in a split second - for this was Harry Potter, the vanquisher of Voldemort - Harry had drawn his wand and transfigured the pair into octopuses. This was something of a tactical error on Harry's part, for the sisters now had twice as many limbs to grab him with, and suckers to boot. There was a momentary delay as he transfigured the girls first into elephants, with their inconveniently searching trunks, and then chickens, which pecked his ankles.

Finally, he settled on fig trees for the both of them, and just resisted the temptation to pluck a fruit from Pansy's branches as the clock struck for the twelfth time.

He turned, angry at missing his chance but eager to make up for lost time with the girl.

But she had gone.

And Harry Potter was far from impressed.

* * *

Ginny ran through the halls and corridors of Hogwarts.

Tried to, anyway.

Her robes were her own again, soot-stained, torn and ancient. They were the best her stepfather would provide, and indeed had been taken from the Lost Property chest in the school dungeons.

The shoes, though, had apparently not been part of whatever spells the Godparents had cast. She had lost one, somewhere behind her, and was limping along now, too wound up to think of removing the other shoe.

She stumbled into the kitchen, cheeks flushed and feet throbbing.

"DAMN!"

Ginny, when she got upset, got angry rather than teary.

Good on her, too.

It scared Neville, though.

"Ginny?"

"BUGGER!"

"Er, Ginny?"

"SH-"

"Ginny!"

Ginny dropped the broom that she had been planning on smashing on something and looked at Neville, her face glowing and her chest heaving. Neville looked a trifle uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?"

Ginny scowled.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she sighed, the anger leaving her as swiftly as it had descended upon her.

"Try me."

"I was at the Ball."

"I know. You looked gorgeous," Neville said. "Not as nice as Eloise, but still..."

"Oh, Neville, I'm sorry!" Ginny said. "How was your night?"

"I'll tell you later," Neville said quietly, with a hint of pride in his voice. "What happened to you?"

"I was made up by a pair of fairy Godmothers and sent off to win Harry Potter's heart," she replied, pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor.

"Oh, one of those things. Happens to me almost every day."

Ginny pulled up short. "Really?"

"Well, no," Neville said, smiling. "But I don't think you're lying."

Ginny sighed. Again.

"When the clock struck twelve, my gown disappeared and my hair just fell down and I looked dreadful," she said. "I couldn't look at him, or have him look at me. It was like he took off my mask and I knew that he'd not like what my face looked like."

"Then he'd be utterly daft. If I didn't have Eloise, I'd be after you, Ginny."

"I'm glad you have her," she said, before slapping her hand to her mouth. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that, I-"

"It's okay," Neville said cheerfully. "Go ahead, break my fragile confidence. I don't mind."

He grinned, and Ginny laughed.

"I was watching the two of you," he said. "From what I saw, he was as wrapped up in you as you are in him. Look at it this way, Ginny. If he thinks the way you're so worried about, he's an idiot and I'll hex him if I ever meet him. If he cares for you, then he's very lucky and you'll find each other again, with or without a little help from fairy Godmothers."

"Godparents."

"I'm impressed," Neville said. "You said that without moving your lips, and you also adopted a rather masculine voice."

"That's because she didn't say it," Ron said, stomping into the room with a foul expression. "And one word about what I'm wearing, blondie, and I'll hex you from here to Azkaban and back."

"I wasn't going to say a word," Neville commented. "Er, nice wand."

Ron shot him a withering look that made Neville tremble slightly.

"It's okay, Neville. He's a friend, I think."

"Whose friend?" Neville asked, putting himself between Ginny and Ron.

"Hers," Ron said shortly. "There was a cock-up."

"Really?" Ginny asked, her cheeks flushing once more. Neville glanced at her, made his excuses, and left hurriedly, nearly knocking Hermione over as she appeared in the doorway.

"Yeah, you were supposed to kiss by the twelfth stroke of midnight," Ron said. "Without the kiss, the spells collapse and you're back to being Ginderella, parlour maid and soot magnet."

"I hadn't noticed," Ginny growled.

"It's okay," Hermione said. "We still have the One Last Hope."

"Yeah, the Million To One chance," Ron added.

"Does this have something to do with glass slippers?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

"Well, back in the day, yeah," Ron said. "But glass slippers? I mean, come on. Who really wants to see someone's foot? The whole reason we wear shoes is because feet are flipping ugly! Nowadays we prefer to call it the Killer Heel ending."

"All shoes are guaranteed 100% magical," Hermione added.

"And when it gets to midnight, one of them will always slip off," Ron finished.

"So you're the reason I've got a sprained ankle, on top of everything else?" Ginny asked, her voice a low growl. "And what if Harry doesn't have a footwear fetish? Did it occur to you that he might not know what sort of shoes I was wearing?"

"Er..."

"We can help you," Ron said hurriedly.

Ginny's eyes glowed as she looked at the two Godparents.

"Then do my homework," she said. "I'm going to sleep."

She turned and limped off. Hermione looked for a second as though she was going to protest, but as Ginny curled up in one slightly less dirty corner of the kitchen, she decided that it wasn't worth the effort.

"Come on," she said quietly to Ron. "It's the least we can do."

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and early, although for Harry Potter it was not such a pleasant awakening.

Never before in his life had he had cause to attempt entry to the female dormitories of Hogwarts.

Which, frankly, speaks of a life not lived to the fullest, but there you go.

In the last night, however, he had discovered that powerful charms and hexes protected the dormitories.

Nothing that the Boy Who Lived couldn't handle, of course.

But a nuisance, nonetheless.

Especially the Slytherin third year girls' dormitory, which Harry was trying as something of a last resort, in case the girl he was after had a younger sister in the school.

There was something wholly undignified about trying to wriggle across the floor to your wand whilst under the influence of the Full Body Bind.

He woke up spread-eagled on the floor of the Great Hall, the familiar sensation of magic tingling along his arm. He looked muzzily towards his hand, which was clasped around a single female shoe. Around the heelstrap of the shoe was tied what Harry at first thought was a thread but which, on closer inspection, turned out to be a hair.

_Her hair. Her shoe. If I find the redhead that this shoe fits, I've found her._

It's the sort of thinking that makes a lot of sense at twenty-past-seven on the morning after the night before.

As he staggered out of the Great Hall to find Hagrid, a change of clothes and something to wash the taste of incontinent rodent from his mouth, Ron turned to Hermione and said "See, we _had_ to be that blatant. He's a dopey sod, I knew he was. He needs to be led by the nose."

"Fine, Ron," Hermione sighed, anxious to get out from under the stifling Invisibility Cloak. "You were right. Where now?"

"Back to the kitchens. He'll get there sooner or later."

* * *

"Ginderella? Ginderella! GINDERELLA!!"

Ginny awoke with a start. Her eyes fell upon the pile of homework and she sighed.

Yet again.

In fairness, it had been a trying few days for our heroine.

"GINDERELLA!!!!!!!!!!"

Clearly it had all been a dream. No fairy Godmothers - _although_, she thought conscientiously, _one of them had been a Godfather_ - no handsome prince, no beautiful dress.

"GINDERELLA YOU BLOODY LAZY GIRL!!! GET UP NOW IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU!!!"

Ginny muttered something unprintable and stood up, lopsidedly.

She looked down, past the tattered robes that were far too short for her, down further past the shapely calves that stuck out of her robes as fairy Ron's skinny calves had stuck out of his dress.

Her gaze came to a halt on the toe of what, on further inspection, turned out to be one half of a pair of killer heels.

_My shoe._

_Oh._

Further thought was interrupted by the abrupt intrusion of Pansy and Millicent into Ginny's distracted line of vision. Ginny bent down swiftly and pulled off the shoe before the other girls could notice, shoving it into her pocket.

"Ginderella, there you are! Make us some breakfast, and make it snappy!" Millicent barked.

"Excellent idea!" Pansy said. "Ginderella, alligator sandwiches all around!"

The sisters collapsed in hilarity as Ginny muttered something even ruder than before under her breath.

With breakfast on the table in front of them, Millicent and Pansy became chatty and began to tell Ginderella about their night at the Ball.

"Draco Malfoy propositioned me personally-"

"- Blaise Zabini! I was flattered, of course -"

"- Crabbe -"

"- Goyle -"

"- Ernie McMillan, if only father could see him as anything other than a commoner -"

"- Harry Potter! I could have died -"

Ginny's head snapped up. "What about Harry Potter?"

"Well, he was there, of course. We had some fun together."

Ginny scowled.

* * *

Harry was thinking fondly of the fun that he'd had with the Snape sisters as well.

Specifically, how hexing the entire female population of Hogwarts would make his task that much easier.

He'd been going around the school for hours, Hagrid in increasingly amused tow. He was beginning to wonder how hard it could possibly be to find the one girl he knew could love him for who he was and not what he'd done or for the vast fortune in his bank account.

It wasn't so much finding the foot that fit the shoe. There were five hundred girls at Hogwarts, many of whom had the small feet necessary to get a comfortable fit. Many of these girls had red hair, although this number was mercifully small compared to the number of blondes and brunettes. He could eliminate the girls who lacked the build of his mystery date as well, for she had been pleasingly curvy.

And Harry would freely admit that this had played some part in his attraction to the girl.

Okay, given that they'd exchanged maybe five words, it was pretty much the entirety of the attraction.

It's twue wuv, folks. Reason isn't a huge part of the process.

Although...

Harry had to admit that there had been something else about this girl. Something that made him doubt the likelihood of her being among the seven red-haired, small-footed, pleasantly curvy, pale-skinned and small-nosed girls whom Hagrid had noted on the 'Most Likely' list.

The mystery girl hadn't looked at his scar.

Not once.

And Harry wanted to know why.

For the scar on his forehead was usually the first thing people noticed about Harry.

That or his firm butt, anyway.

It depended which way he was facing when he met someone new.

His head throbbed, but he ignored it. It was a mild hangover, rather than a message that Voldemort was trying to kill him.

If it was a severe hangover, of course, he may have had trouble telling the difference.

"Why don't yeh just _ask_ someone?" Hagrid suggested, as they left the first year Gryffindor girls' dormitory. "Someone mus' know this girl, if she's as grand as yeh think she is."

"Yeah, can't hurt I guess," Harry replied dispiritedly. He really didn't want to look like a complete idiot, but what choice did he have?

_Excuse me, do you know a girl, about 5'4, curvy, quite pretty I think, but I was a little bit drunk so I don't remember exactly. Oh, and she's got red hair and if she's your sister or girlfriend can you please not punch me?_

"Hallo Neville," Hagrid said cheerily.

"Hi Hagrid," a boy about Harry's age replied.

"'Ow's yer toad?"

"Trevor? Okay. He met a lady toad in the lake the other day."

"Ah. When's the babies due?"

Harry boggled as his faithful butler discussed amphibian mating with the boy. When they'd finished, Hagrid looked at Harry, as though remembering something.

"Oh, Neville. You don't happen to know the girl Harry here is looking for, do yeh?"

Neville turned his face to Harry's, and met Harry's gaze evenly.

"Maybe," Neville said, and once again Harry found himself face to face with someone who didn't look at his scar and think that he knew all there was to know about Harry Potter.

Harry was beginning to realise how much he missed being able to surprise people.

"Who are you looking for?" Neville asked, a steely note appearing in his voice as he addressed Harry. It didn't escape Harry's attention that Neville's wand had appeared in his hand suddenly, either.

"She's a beautiful redhead that I think I may be in love with and I didn't get the chance to get to know her as well as I wanted to last night," Harry said quickly. He was remembering for the first time in a long time what it felt like to be nervous as he looked into Neville's eyes.

"Er..."

"Try the kitchens," Neville said. "And if it's who I think it is, and you hurt her, then I'll do everything in my power to make sure that you're cursed by toad for the rest of your life."

At some point in his life, Harry should have been taught how to quit when he was ahead.

But then, he wouldn't have been able to fight Voldemort, so he was allowed to miss out on a valuable part of his education.

"Toad?" he asked, momentarily distracted

"Whenever you take off your robes..." Neville said menacingly. "All you'll hear will be '_Croak, croak, croak..._'"

Harry blinked repeatedly for a few seconds as he took this in, and then shuddered.

"And that'll just be the first curse I put on you."

"I... don't think I'm going to hurt her," Harry said. "I hope I'm not, anyway."

"Then I'll go back to perfecting the curse so that I can use it on Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"You know him?"

"Er, sort of," Harry said, grinning slightly. "Let's just say that something already happens when he takes off his robes, and it isn't toads croaking."

"What is it?" Neville asked, his mask of protective friendship slipping momentarily.

"Er, laughter. Gnome laughter."

"Gnome laughter?"

"Gnome laughter."

"Gnomes as in the six-inch high, anatomically correct scale models of human beings gnomes?"

"Anatomically correct down to the last, how can I put this, half inch," Harry confirmed.

Neville grinned delightedly. "Well, maybe it won't be the curse of the _toad_ I put on you then..."

* * *

The kitchens were easy enough to find, once Harry realised that taking directions from the twin pranksters had left them hopelessly off course. Hagrid collared a pudgy Slytherin who looked as though he had the route to the kitchen memorised from every point in the school.

"I can't believe I've forgotten how to get down here," Harry said as he looked at the painting of a fruit bowl that covered the not-very-secret entrance to the kitchens.

"Yeh had a lot on yer mind, last time yeh were here," Hagrid said.

"Yeah, but forgetting where the kitchens are? The Marauders would be embarrassed of me."

"Yeah, well, if the Marauders had put as much effort into work as they did into breaking all the rule o' this place..." Hagrid tailed off as he realised that the four Marauders had all left Hogwarts with high marks. "Well, anyway..."

"It must run in the family," Harry said. "I never had to work very hard for my marks."

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause you had that girl helpin' yeh, weren't it? What was her name now?"

"I... don't remember. I don't see her anymore. It's like she vanished from my life. But yeah, she was really smart, and dead helpful, too."

"Right, so..." Hagrid said.

"Hmmm?"

"Yeh goin' to do anything?"

"Anything what?"

"Anything about this girl yeh've bin trackin' though the school tryin' to find all mornin'. We've bin standin' in front of that paintin' now for half-an-hour, and I for one am beginnin' ter wonder if there's a cup o' tea in these kitchens."

"Er..."

"Ruddy kids," Hagrid muttered, reaching out and tickling the pear in the fruit bowl with one of his big fingers. It squirmed and giggled and then the painting popped off the wall and swung open.

And there, standing on the other side of the painting, gaping at Harry as he gaped at her, was the girl from the Ball.

* * *

The problem was, it was entirely the wrong girl.

Harry, slightly drunk though he had been the night before, rarely forgot a face that looked as though it belonged on a Wanted poster. It had been a skill that had saved his life more than once.

Millicent, poor lass, had just such a face.

She had been dancing around the kitchen for the amusement of Pansy - for Ginny had long since left to work in the great larders that lay beyond the kitchen - and re-enacting her courtship of Harry the night before.

It was elaborate.

It was detailed.

At one point there were villagers.

It was also, of course, complete and total Hippogriff dung.

In every single way, it was completely false.

Its single redeeming feature was that it was marginally less a bunch of Flobberworm droppings than Pansy's own retelling had been.

That had been elaborate.

It had also been detailed.

Indeed, at one point there had not only been villagers, but a meeting of the village council.

Pansy led a very complicated fantasy life.

It saved her from having a real life, and from inflicting her presence on real people. And for that we can all be grateful.

"Harry!" Pansy screeched, dropping the last of her alligator sandwich down the front of her robes.

(Hey, say what you like about Ginny's temper, obsession with Harry or her tendency to sigh loudly, but she knows where to lay her hands on fresh alligator. Out of season, too. It's a much-underrated skill.)

The sandwich left a stain. Pansy was wearing a silk dress. She didn't let it stop her as she threw herself at Harry.

You would not _believe_ how hard it is to get alligator out of silk. It's really a give-up-and-save-yourself-the-trouble job.

Pansy didn't even notice.

Harry, for his woes, got a chestful of alligator as well. As he was wearing his tuxedo from the night before, he knew that he too would be left with a lasting stain.

And he'd rather been hoping to wear the tuxedo on his wedding day.

Which, he'd also been hoping, would be in a few days, once he got the details sorted out with the redhead and stuff.

Like her name.

And her age.

And whether she felt the same for him as he did for her.

Minor stuff.

He extricated himself from Pansy's grasp with some difficulty, not wanting to resort to the measures he'd taken the night before, but eager to distance himself from her and her now-deceased sandwich.

"Ladies..." he began, before stopping while Hagrid ambled over to the pump, filled two buckets with ice-cold water, and threw them over the girls, who had swooned at the sound of his voice.

And we all know what _water_ does to silk, right?

The girls sat up, sputtering and gasping, not happy at having been drenched so unceremoniously.

But I enjoyed it.

How was it for you?

"Ladies," Harry began again, for he believed in politeness and if in doubt, always used it. "You may have heard of my quest," he added.

Pansy, at the sound of the word 'quest' looked ready to swoon again. But she caught sight of Hagrid, with bucket still in hand, and decided against it.

"I seek the lady who won my heart at the Ball last night," Harry continued. "But she ran when I was... distracted," he said, with a venomous glare at the sisters. "I was told that she might be down here."

The sisters looked at one another, and knew that they were sharing the same thought.

They stood up, shook themselves dry - the resemblance to dogs was remarkable - and spoke with one voice.

"It's us."

"What?" Harry barked.

"We're the girls you fell for last night. Don't you remember?" Millicent said.

"You were a little drunk, of course," Pansy said, in what she clearly thought was an understanding tone. "We forgive you. You just have to choose one of us today."

"Choose... one of you?" Harry asked carefully.

"That's right," Millicent said.

"But, you don't look anything like the girl I met last night. And you've done nothing but stare at my scar and try and look at my arse since I came in here!"

"We're just making sure that you're the real thing," Pansy said, coyly. "And we certainly remember being with you last night, Harry dearest."

"You may be a bit fuzzy on the details, but that's okay. We're the girls you were with," Millicent said. "Now just choose one of us, love, and be done with it."

Harry looked in horror at the two of them. Red-faced Millicent grinned victoriously down on him, her meaty forearms crossed over her ample bosom.

Pansy, in contrast, was doing her utmost to appear feminine and attractive. She was bent forward slightly, showing her neck and rather too much cleavage for Harry's taste. Her slender form was emphasised at all the right points by her flowing robes.

There was no getting away from the fact that she was pug-ugly though.

"Jus' stick the shoe on 'em, Harry, and let's get on," Hagrid growled.

Harry sighed in relief. Neither of these girls could possibly fit the shoe. He produced it with a flourish, eager to have the business done with, only for it to be snatched away from him by a triumphant looking Pansy.

"Does one of us have to fit the shoe? Well, it looks more my size then my sister's. You won't mind her living with us, will you dear?"

"It's as likely to fit me as it is you, you cloven hoofed trollop!" Millicent snarled as she snatched the shoe. "I'm sure my love won't want you when he sees the bunions, corns and blisters on your scraggy feet!"

Pansy gasped. "Bitch!"

"Cow!"

"Tramp!"

"Slut!"

"Skank!"

"_What_ is going on here?"

Pansy and Millicent, well used to ignoring their father, ignored their father.

Harry, the fear of Professor Snape ground into him through hundreds of Potions classes, span around so fast that he nearly fell over.

Snape sneered.

"Potter. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Snape spat.

Harry looked at Snape, realisation dawning on him.

"Hey, I'm taller than you," he said.

"What?" Snape was nonplussed, a noteworthy event.

"I am! Merlin's teeth, the whole time I was here I felt like I was about eleven around you. Now I'm a prince, and you're still..."

"Shut up, Potter," Snape breathed.

"Yes sir," Harry said at once. _Damn! I have _got _to learn how he does that..._

"What are my daughters doing?"

"Arguing over who gets to marry me, I think."

"Of course." Snape looked venomously at Harry. "I thought to myself 'What do I _least_ want the answer to be?' With you involved, what else _could_ it have been? Girl!"

While Pansy and Millicent bickered, a third girl entered the room. She was short, and pleasingly curvy with flowing red hair that was pulled back into a pony tail, but her face was hidden by the wide-brimmed witches' hat she wore incongruously with her tattered robes, but which allows your narrator to spin out the suspense a little bit further, if that's okay with you..

Harry looked once, twice, three times.

_A lady!_

"_Tempus Decelerus!_"

Harry looked around, but before he could speak, a star-topped wand was waved in his face and his jaw clamped shut.

"Mmmph?"

"Ron!"

"I just wanted to say, alright, that I spent all night doing poxy Potions essays and I'd appreciate you not taking the piss just because I happen to be wearing a dress."

"Oh _honestly_!"

Harry's mouth popped open and he brought his own wand up on the two gaudily dressed people in front of him.

"Okay, so you've slowed time," he said calmly. "I'm impressed. Now would you find telling me exactly what's going on here?"

"Well, I'm Hermione, this is Ron, and we're your fairy Godmothers."

Ron made an unintelligible noise ignored by Harry and Hermione.

"God_mothers,_" Harry repeated, looking suspiciously at Ron. "I see. Do I get three wishes?"

"That's genies," Hermione said. "It's Ginny we're talking about."

"Ginny?"

"Ginny. Just be ready, alright?"

"Ready for what?"

Ron grinned. "The opportune moment," he said.

Time snapped back into motion, and Harry had the minor pleasure of seeing Snape start slightly at Harry's apparently instantaneous change in position.

In the background, Pansy and Millicent continued their bickering over the shoe.

"Girls!" Snape shouted, covering his momentary loss of concentration. "Act your ages, rather than your shoe sizes!"

"Actually, I think that acting their shoe sizes would make them grow up a bit, Sev," Ron said, appearing from thin air at Harry's side. "They've got really big feet, those two," he added as the girls pulled off their own shoes and compared their feet with the shoe they'd snatched from Harry. "You sure they're not boys in drag? I don't reckon you could raise normal kids, somehow."

Snape glared at the red-haired, dress-wearing, male Godmother.

"Weasley," he said. "What the blazes-"

"Shut up," Ron muttered distractedly, waving his wand at the older man. Snape clapped his hands to his throat and looked highly affronted.

Or pissed off, if you prefer.

"You're a fine one to talk about boys in skirts," Hermione huffed as she appeared behind Snape and stunned him just as he leapt at Ron, hands outstretched and clawing for Ron's throat.

"That was fun," Ron said fondly, staring happily down at Snape's prone form. "I've waited a long time to do that."

Hermione looked at him, frustration evident on her face, but she was also biting her lip in an effort to stop herself smiling.

Harry looked from one to the other, absently noting two squawks of pain behind him but not bothering to inspect them.

"So," he said.

Silence.

"Hello?"

Silence, but now Hermione and Ron were looking at him expectantly.

"What!"

Ron looked at him, his expression one of mixed pity and amusement.

"Harry," he said. "Remember what I said about waiting on the opportune moment?"

"Well?"

"This would be it, mate."

Realisation dawned, coincidentally at the same moment as the sun.

You have to love the messed up clock that the Hogwarts kitchens run on.

Harry turned to look at the short witch who, so far, had remained silent.

He reached out and hooked two fingers beneath her chin, wanting to lift her head so that he could see her face beneath her hat.

He held his breath.

He could feel her swallow, her quick nervous breaths tickling his thumb as it rested against her lip.

"Harry, darling," Pansy cooed. "The shoe fits both of us... Have you made a decision yet?"

_Yes, now DROP DEAD!_

Harry, being polite, turned away with barely a groan of disappointment. He turned to look at Pansy who was brandishing her foot at him.

There was a moment of silence as everyone took in the slightly bizarre sight. It was broken by Millicent swooping down and snatching the shoe from Pansy's foot.

There was a spray of blood that spattered the floor.

There was another moment of silence, broken only by Millicent's grunts as she yanked the shoe on.

"You cut off your toe?!"

"Only a little," Pansy said.

"I didn't cut off my toe," Millicent rumbled, showing her foot in the shoe.

"No, you cut off your heel!" Harry grimaced, watching the blood pooling at the back of the shoe.

"Well, whatever," Pansy said. "The whole school knows that you're looking for the girl you danced with last night because you've fallen in love with her. Do you know anyone else who fits the shoe?"

"Actually, there were plenty o' girls we've seen who look like Harry's ladyfriend," Hagrid grinned. "Short, red hair, nice figure..."

Millicent made a dismissive noise. "It's one of the girls in this room, Harry, so choose."

What followed would have been a moment of perfect silence, except that Ron leaned over to the mysterious servant girl and said, in a stage whisper, "Did you hear all that?"

Ginny, for it was she,_ had_ heard all that. She hadn't dared to hope that Harry could have been as affected as she had been by the events of the previous evening, and when word had reached the kitchens of his quest, she'd stomped off in a fit of the sullens. That he'd apparently fallen for one of her stepsisters was simply further proof that the world was deeply unfair.

And now he was standing before her, had apparently been looking for her, and was being harangued by her stepsisters.

She wasn't about to allow that, not even for a second.

"Shut up, you stupid cow!" she yelled, glaring ferociously at Pansy. With an entirely artificial jangly sound effect that Ron and Hermione would later deny all knowledge of, she yanked off her hat and threw it at Millicent.

Ron would later take credit for the spell that increased the mass of the hat several times over, meaning that when it hit Millicent in the face, she was out cold before anyone could blink.

Harry couldn't help but grin as Ginny swooped forward and stood toe to toe with Pansy.

"You'll get the same if you don't go away," the red-haired witch growled.

"But... But..." Pansy stammered, glancing at Harry.

Credit where credit's due, she was brave enough to stand her ground.

Or, possibly, too stupid to realise when she was beaten.

Ginny glared at her.

"In words of one syllable: Back off, he is mine."

She waved at their fallen sister. "Pick her up, take the bits of your bodies that you cut off, and go to the hospital wing. And then come back here and clean the floor. If you think I'm mopping up your blood, you can stick a broomstick up your arse!"

Pansy scurried away.

At least she tried to, but was rather hampered by the bulk of her sister. The most she could manage was a tortuously slow limp.

Still, it takes them out of the story, which is all that matters.

Ginny turned to face Harry, Ron and Hermione, her cheeks as red as her hair.

"As for you three..." she said, glowering at them.

"Whoah, hey, what did we do?" Ron asked.

"Why are you even _here_?" Ginny seethed.

"Well, some say... That's not what you mean, is it?" Hermione asked.

Ginny just glared.

"We're here to finish the job," Hermione amended.

"How?"

"Well, you have to try on the shoe," Ron said. "That's traditional."

Ginny looked down at the blood soaked shoe she was holding in her hand, and then up at the others. Hagrid was grinning, Harry looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, and Hermione and Ron looked as though the next sentence would be the difference between a pass and a fail on their NEWTs.

"If you think I'm putting this thing on, you can go-"

"I get the idea!" Harry said quickly. "Bad enough I have to _ride_ on a broomstick. That can get pretty uncomfortable. I wouldn't want one any other way."

"Well, if I don't put the shoe on, you won't believe it's me you danced with last night, will you?"

Harry looked at her curiously.

"You weren't wearing a mask," he said. "Of _course_ I know it's you."

"Oh."

"There's always a contingency plan, see?" Ron said, sauntering over and throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Just in case it all goes pear shaped."

He nudged Harry in the ribs. "There's something else you need to say," he added.

"Ron!" Hermione said, warningly.

"Oh, come on," he said, turning to face her. "These two are bloody _useless_. They didn't even snog last night."

And that was all Ron managed to say. Being on the receiving end of three Stunning spells was enough to drop him limply to the ground. Fortunately, only Harry was in a position to see up his hooped dress.

Ron's unmentionables remained unmentioned, although Harry looked mildly queasy as he turned quickly away.

"Er, could you help me with him please?" Hermione asked Hagrid.

"No problem," Hagrid said, picking Ron up easily by the scruff of the neck. "Dump 'im in the lake, shall we?"

"Well..."

Their voices faded from hearing. Harry and Ginny looked at one another. Just above their heads, and quite unbidden by either of them, a pixie orchestra appeared from nowhere and struck up a love melody.

Harry and Ginny didn't notice.

They were looking at one another.

And being silent again.

Twue wuv, I'm telling you.

"You don't mind that I'm only a maid, do you?" Ginny asked, eventually.

"You don't mind that it took two fairy Godmothers, a masquerade ball, a quest, my old Potions master and two girls I'm considering reporting to animal control to get me to notice you, do you?" Harry replied.

Apparently the answer to both questions was 'No', although if I were Ginny, I might have wanted to have a long talk with Harry about his particular issue. And his tendency to answer a question with another question.

Still, that's probably why I'm just the narrator, and not the heroine.

Anyway.

Without seeming to move, they stood in front of one another, eyes still locked, lips scant centimetres apart.

There was the faintest brushing of lips as they leaned forward ever so slightly.

The orchestra shifted into a passionate number without missing a beat.

Ginny and Harry's eyes fluttered shut.

They leant fractionally closer.

* * *

Several minutes later, Harry asked, "Will you marry me?"

Ginny replied, "Of course."

It was that kind of courtship.

And just to prove it, Ron reappeared, showing no ill effects from being stunned three times over.

"I _love_ weddings," he declared. "Drinks all round."

"Hear hear," Hagrid chorused.

* * *

And, as these things go, there were announcements and invites, dresses to choose, robes to select, shoes to try on...

The shoes, of course, were particularly important.

Then there was the stag-do, where Ron caused a huge shock by appearing in a pair of trousers.

And Hagrid got incredibly drunk on mulled mead.

And Seamus had a fight with an Italian waitress who was a second cousin once removed to the Corleone family.

And Harry had to hex an entire chapter of Hell's Angels who took exception to Seamus' slightly inebriated "Make you an offer you can't refuse" spiel.

And Dumbledore won Time magazine's _Man of the Decade_ award.

Long story, that last one.

And the hen-night, where Hermione arranged for a dozen strippers in Quidditch robes to liven up the evening.

And Pansy and Millicent ended up, well, going somewhere and doing something with some people which I wouldn't feel comfortable telling my old mum about.

And Eloise snuck Neville into the club and they were discovered in a broom cupboard having a very private party.

And Ginny had to hex a new guy every three minutes, on average, to protect her virtue for her wedding night.

And then, when the hangovers cleared up, the wedding.

With Professor Dumbledore presiding, the wizarding world's most eligible bachelor pledged his life and his love to the prettiest witch ever seen.

And there was much rejoicing.

That is, except for Ron, who was forced to perform Best Man duties in his work dress after losing a bet to Hermione over whether Harry could be persuaded to wear a Chudley Cannons shirt under his dress robes or not.

Still, for most people, it was a Happy Ending, especially once they saw Ron in the dress.

And that's what counts.

Did they live Happily Ever After?

What do _you_ think?

**The End**


End file.
